


Midnight Sky

by DemonsPath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Friendship, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11957295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonsPath/pseuds/DemonsPath
Summary: Hyacinth Potter loathed Albus Dumbledore, abhorred Voldemort, and disgusted with the sheer ignorance of the Wizarding World. She would only finish the war for herself and to get rid of all the unwanted attention once and for all.





	1. Prolouge

_"Find a group of people who challenge and inspire you; spend a lot of time with them, and it will change your life."_

_— Amy Poehler_

* * *

Hyacinth Potter was known as the Ice Queen of the Slytherin. They listened to her, followed her order, and helped her win the war against You-know-who. Her words were absolute.

She befriended with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass ever since the first year, she ruled the school with an iron fist. Rescuing and returning the Philosophy stone to Nicholas Flamel had helped her earned a place being the Flammel apprentice.

Year two, she killed a  _freaking_  basilisk; earned herself a new loyal minion…friend in Dobby-the-house-elf, and an ally in Lucius Malfoy; meanwhile also rescuing Ginny Weasley and generally worried Draco and Blaise out (they swore ever since they knew her, they always have grey hair on their head and they haven't even entered adulthood yet. She just shrugged, told them they would miss her and that their lives would also be boring without her in it). Daphne would just sniff disdainfully at her and told her to stop being an idiot Gryffindor.

After that, with the help of her best friends, she discovered the diary was a Horcrux and was appalled at the idea split your soul.

"I don't think You-know-who just split his soul into two, you know" – Blaise told them – "the Magical world viewed number 7 is a magical number, and based on the name the Dark Lord had chosen for himself –  _Flight of Death_  – he would make sure he immortal, don't you think? So why just split his soul in two?"

So they searched high and low, found all the Horcruxes, asked the goblins for their help, and generally trying to end the war before it even began.

Don't get her wrong, Hyacinth would love to see the Wizarding world would burn down by themselves but then they would find her and make her their 'saviour' one way or another. They were sheep, which was true. But they were sheep that have  _powerful, manipulative, and ruthless leaders_  that would do anything in their power to guarantee their wins. So, she figured, better destroy one first then deal with the other one later.

Hyacinth  _loathed_  the manipulated old coot, the one who had left her on the front doorstep of her aunt Petunia house as a mere baby in the middle of the night after losing both of her parents on said night. She despised him, even more, when she found out the wrong imprisonment of her dog-father. She could not fathom how he still has some sanity left in him after all the years he spent in Azkaban.

She adored Sirius. It's hard not to be fond of someone who loves you enough to sacrifice their own sanity for you. Although sane or not, Sirius was still a Black, and Black  _educated_  their children ever since they were young. He maybe a reckless idiot, but Sirius Black was anything but  _stupid_. After he escaped, he blood adopted Hyacinth, made her his heir, made her became his daughter in every way possible, and did everything in his power to prepare her.

In her third year summer, he told her about Dying Will Flame, about their power, and about how the magical world viewed them as 'black magic'. At this, Sirius howled with laughter. Those idiots didn't know how  _accurate_  it was.

He told her that the Black originally came from Italy, where most of the underworld use Dying Will Flame as their tool to survive and to gather  _Famiglia_. In the Black family books, they said that everyone has their own Flame, it's just the matter of Will for their Flame to be active. He began to teach her how to meditate, to find her inner core, and to find a connection with the energy that flows through her body.

Meditating helped  _a lot_. It had helped her calmed her mind, control her anger, and helped her found peace within herself. Not only that, she had also found her inner Flame – she has Sky and Night Flame (and couldn't help but feel a bit cliche about it), and figured out her inner Animagus animals (thank Merlin for Sirius!) – Turned out she had two, midnight Phoenix and snow fox.

Fourth Year? Well, let just say it was when shit began to hit the fan.


	2. The Slytherin Trio

_My cute little kitten,_

_I sense a disturbance in the force. Be careful, my dear._

_With love_

_Your Amazing Master_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was an only child in a very wealthy family. He had always got everything he wanted and never had to share. Because of that, he knew he was a greedy creature and a possessive person. Why denied it when it was true? It's his nature.

Sometimes, Draco hated the fact that he was friend with Cynthia. Ever since he met her, he had never stopped worried. About. Everything. Truly, his lifespan must have shortened at least ten years by now.

Every morning after had he woke up, whenever he check, there's always grey hair on his head. It pained for him to admit this, but the Malfoys were  _very_ vain. He knew for a fact that his Father used every hair products have known to wizards/witches to keep his hair looking like silk. He himself had a routine in which every morning he spends about two hours to keep his beauty regime done. Not that anyone  _knew_ …

Anyway, before he met Cynthia, his viewed of the world had been very limited. Granted, he was only 11 years old, but she always made he felt like he should have known better. He loved her, really. She's his best friend – along with Blaise, sometimes Daphne (but he would never tell them that even under the pain of death). However, Draco swore that girl didn't have any common sense or self-esteem at all – must be because of those blasted  _muggles_  (he thought with a sneered).

Speaking of revolting, he and his Father were trying to get Black a trial. It amazed him how deep were Dumbledoor nets had clawed into the wizarding politic system. Knowing Cynthia, after the deal with the Dark Lord and Dumblebee done, she would found the way out of this world forever if she could help it.

Draco knew that he would follow Hyacinth Potter  _everywhere_. Always has been, and always will be. His gut, his instinct, _every fibre in his body_  had always been drawn to her. He knew that, if push comes to shove, he would gladly give up his life for her too. But he was neither suicidal nor stupid. So he settled for the next best thing, became strong. Strong enough to not become a hindrance,  _strong enough to protect_. He did not care if it was Moldyshort or Dumbledork, as long as they wanted to hurt what he considered  _his_ , Draco Malfoy would do anything,  _anything_ , to guard, to protect, to keep his Family safe.

.

.

.

It saddened Blaise to say this, but life was very boring without Hyacinth.

He didn't know when (or how for that matter), but he had created a life that revolves around her. Seeing her smile always made his day. When she laughed the world seemed brighter. One could say he has a crush on her. But no, she was like his sister, his  _Principessa_.

He could become protective of her, become her shield, but then that was Draco's job (not that he wasn't protective of her, it's just no one could be as  _'protective'_  as Dray). He could become her conscious, her voice of reason, although Daphne already called dibs on that and so far she had done a great deal – he knew that nothing could stop Hyacinth when she was on a war path, so they went for the next best thing, damage control and stopped her from killing people when they still plan for them.

But no, Blaise knew he could never become all of the above. He knew he was her knowledge, her source of information. Everything she wanted to know, he would get them for her in every last detail. He had always been a silent child really. No one had ever cared who he was and where he had been, including his own mother (he knew she loved him, she sometimes just…forgot). He was okay with it, encouraged it even. It was better to be ignored than to be forced into something you didn't want.

But then Hyacinth happened.

When he met Hyacinth, suddenly he had a purpose. Suddenly his life before had been so dull. It was like _all his life he had been waiting for this moment to happen_. For the first time since forever, he felt like he was at  _home_. Therefore, he would make the world  _burn_  if anything happened to it.

.

.

.

Daphne knew she was not a fighter. All she ever had was her brain.

She knew she could be smarter than Hermione-Know-It-All-Granger if she wanted to. But then why attracted attention to herself? Hence, her decision to become a healer.

The reason was simple. Her group of friends somehow always getting into trouble, and instead of sitting there like a duck, she chose to do something about it. She knew herself – and maybe all of their group had some serious trust issue. If she couldn't become a fighter, she would damned well make sure she becomes  _the_  best healer that money can ask for.

Maybe it was still early to decide oneself's future, but this was a time of war, it never hurt to be prepared. Also, deep within herself, she  _knew_  she was meant to do this. She wouldn't… _couldn't_  trust anyone enough to tend to her friends' health.

The letter/warning Tia sent them the day before didn't help either. She just  _knew_  Draco was going to  _freak the bloody hell out_.


	3. The First Knight

_A true knight is fuller of bravery in the midst than in the beginning of danger._

_-_ _Philip Sidney_

* * *

_**The First Knight** _

_**The Shield, the Protector** _

_**.** _

_**.** _

_**.** _

It was Dray who was her first friend. The one who made others curious enough, interested enough to approach her (Not that she was not charismatic on her own. It was just that he understood her so well, knowing her thoughts and understanding her actions without her need to explain. Having him as her friend, it was suddenly easier to breathe. Ever since the first day that they met when their skins touch and her fire provided him with the feeling he had always  _longing_ but not knowing  _what_ ).

It was from her first entrance to the Wizarding World, the first time she set foot to somewhere  _magical_. Where she still just a little girl, feeling so overwhelmed with all these new sensations (Hagrid had been helpful, really. But he was also not very  _smart_ , and  _observant_ ). So it was  _very_  welcoming when she heard a voice that could only belong to a child, but also educated enough for her to make friends with.

It was when as he stood as patiently as an eleven-year-old boy could for the seamstress to prod her needles at him, Draco Malfoy distinguished a sudden warmth washing over Madam Malkin's. The crackling emerald green fire inside him almost purred with pleasure when he had a taste what could only be described as  _home_ , that he noticed her. So skinny and scrawny back then, but still had an air of a lady-in-making which made him curious enough to want to know (and he also  _so so_   _desperately_ wanted to find someone look at him for who he was, as Draco Malfoy, instead of  _mini-Lucius_ , baby Death Eaters in training).

"Hello. Hogwarts, too?"

That was when he saw the emerald green that had always provided him the feeling of warmness and safety. The green that was his favourite, his security blanket. Therefore, it was no wondered that it had been her eyes that drawled him in. (Later, when he had got to know her better, it was the passion, the affection, the pride and the love that she held for her friends, the emotion that she could not hide, that made him wanted to  _protect_ ).

.

.

.

When Draco was eight, there was a kidnapping. This goes to show that even if your father was free from Azkaban and was declared being Imperius when the Dark Lord still alive, not everyone was agreeable to it. There were people who hated the dark and wanted revenge, people who had lost everything and everyone they hold dear under the hands of Death Eaters, people who had _nothing else to lose._

So, it was a cold day in December that Draco was abducted from the Malfoy's manor.

He was scared (who would not?), he was terrified (everything was so  _dark_ , so  _cold_  and so  _quiet_ ). For days he cried and prayed ( _always praying, always begging for his parents to come_   _and rescue him_ ). For all his maturity, he was only eight, he was still only a  _child_. He had the  _rights_  to feel  _petrified_ , to allow himself to have  _doubts_. His parents had hardly told him that they loved him ( _never knowing what it was like to be loved, to be treasured)_. Why went through such hassle, he thought, for only a boy? Heir he might be, it was not like his mother could not bear any more children. For his father was always strict, for his mother was always so distant.

That night, the nightmares that came to him were not pleasant. As was the feeling of hands squeezing his neck so tight that he could hardly breathe. His ear ringing with the unpleasant voice of his kidnapper ' _You bloody son of a Death Eater. Your bastard of a father murdered my own wife and son, burned down our house and left me alive just to watch helplessly over the remains of a family I once had. There is no justice in this world. The fucking Ministry won't put the bastard in Azkaban. I'm at the end of my rope. I want revenge revenge revenge.'_

In the end, it was the crackling fire, the emerald green light, that save his neck from being broken by the rough, calloused hands. It was green for all he could see. It was fire, for he could feel the warmth, but it was not painful. However, his captor was not as lucky, for his scream was full of agony and pain. He screamed and screamed until his voice was raw, his skin was burning hot fire red, and his conscience was gone.

Draco was still young back then, when he activated his Flame, for all that he thought about was  _oh Merlin no no no / somebody anybody please help me / I don't want to die_. He hadn't had enough will to kill, only wanted to be safe from the person that wanted to kill him  _I'm NOT my father you bloody fuck of dragon dungs._

He then dragged himself out, searching for an exit while repeating the name of his personal house-elf like a mantra.

'Master Draco!' was the last thing he heard when darkness developed him.

.

When Draco woke up again, he found himself looking up at a familiar ceiling, felt a familiar softness that was his bed. Finding out he had been missing for more than a month was somewhat shocking (it felt  _much much longer than that)_ but then feeling sick when was told his  _parents_  only just notice a week ago. And how fucked up was it that the house-elves, who his family had treated worse than dirt, had been so frantically worried about him, had been searching for him high and low, putting so much more effort finding him  _even more than his own parents._

He wanted to scream, to shout, to cry his eyes out, and to show his parents the  _despair_  that he had felt. He was not tortured physically, but mentally he was just a child. And children needed their parents  _love and care_ in order to  _grow_.

It was because of the father who was never there, but still expected so much from him  _(one who expected him to become a second Lucius Malfoy)_ , that he was abducted.

The resentment was not there, not yet, for all their faults they were still his parents, but the experience created a seed in his mind (then again, sometimes, a seed was all you need).


	4. The Observer

_What makes a legend?_

_Is it what they did when they were alive or how they are remembered when they're gone?_

_\- The guardian_

* * *

_**The Observer** _

_**The Eyes, the Ears** _

_**.** _

_**.** _

_**.** _

Blaise Zabini was a particular child. A perfect heir, one could say. A quiet kid, one observed.

His papa was Italian, met his mama when he was travelled in France. He was a simple and honest man, his father. Devious mind that could rival his mama, but still sweet and naïve. A romantic, she would say – a dreamy and sad smile on her face – always trying to please her, treated her like his most treasured gem.

Blaise remembered that and more.

Always curious, always probing, always questioning.  _Curiosity kills the cat_ , they said.

Blaise was out with his papa that day when they were caught in a crossfire. He might be young, but he never forgot,  _could_  never forget his father's killer. He could never forget the deflected bullets that dropped his papa like a rag doll, could never forget the indifference pair of eyes that seemed so uncaring when a civilian was hit.  _Collateral damage, unintended accident,_ they said _._ Then a gun was put on Blaise's head. ' _Sorry kid, cannot leave any witness'_ , he had heard then.

Time seemed to stop, however.  _No no no no no no, papa papa papa, no no no no, I didn't even get to say goodbye, papa papa papa papa._ His inside was burning, burning of vengeance, of wanting justice. Of not being able to say goodbye, of no last word, of his papa sudden death just because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Of his mama, who had no idea what would happen to her family if  _Blaise died here with his papa_.  _No, I will not die here, not now_ , not when his mama still counted on him to return home.

 _Fuckers killed my papa, they killed what was MINE. UNACCEPTABLE._  Blaise had wanted them to pay dearly, for the sins they had caused, for destroying what was once a happy family, for the griefs and sorrows they had caused. Purple flames violently appeared then. Fierce and strong, uncontainable, willing to destroy those who had wrong him.

Blaise, for the life of him, failed to recall what happened next and how he had gotten home safely with his papa's corpse laying next to him.

After that, his mama was devastated. They moved to England, for France was full of memories, of a reminder of a future that could never happen. Grief was something human had to face, everyone grief differently. His mama remarried and became widowed again and again; he became quieter, tend to hide in the shadow more (No need to draw attention to himself, after all.  _Lesson watched, lesson learned._ ).

…

Blaise remembered the first time he met Dray, who was just 'the Malfoy heir' the first time they met at their mothers and the rest of the pureblood ladies – or as he viewed them: housewives, vultures, menaces that had nothing else better to do – Tea Party Club. He remembered how much of a  _brat_ Draco was when in presence of the adults. So much brattiness that he could not stand talking to him for more than five minutes.

' _Son of Lucius Malfoy, so much potential. On a way to grow up just like his father. Oh Lady Malfoy, you must be so proud!'_ he had heard. (Thinking back, Blaise felt pretty stupid not to notice Draco expression back then, whose fist was clenched tight enough to cut off the blood circulation, teeth gritted and still tried to put on a polite and charming smile for their audiences.). So he ignored the Malfoy brat, he still polite of course – his mother would be disappointed if she was kicked out of the Tea Party Club, she loved her daily gossips – but careful to put some distance between them.

Until he heard about the kidnapping. From  _the house elves_.

When Lady Malfoy came for the daily tea gossip alone for the first time, Blaise did not think much about it. After all, it's none of his business that she wanted to bring her son or not. The second time, then the third, and the fourth, and Blaise had begun to think the brat had finally convinced his own mother that he would not accompany her to the tea party any longer.  _Lucky imp_ , Blaise had thought.

But then he noticed one of the Malfoy's personal house elf was asking the rest of his House's house elves frantically and frighteningly.

Blaise was reluctant to admit that he was more of his papa's son than his mama's. ' _Have you seen the young master? Oh, have you? Abby was such a bad elf, lost his own master, what to do what to do'_  – he heard.

 _Huh_ , he had thought,  _not so lucky after all_.

Then nearly a month later, his brattiness was back. Now, even under the pain of death would Blaise ever admit this, but he was relieved. Still, there were no signs of kidnapping whatsoever. If Blaise had not known any better, he would have thought that he had been imagined things.

But then Blaise looked up at Draco eyes. The same kind of eyes that looked back at him every day. Those eyes were what made him halted his steps and  _really_ looked at Draco Malfoy for the first time.

The rest, as they said, was history.

.

.

(And then, at eleven years old, Hyacinth walked into their lives.)


	5. The Jokesters

_"...up to no good—and pleased about it."_

_― Dean Koontz, Odd Apocalypse_

* * *

**_The Jokesters_ **

**_The Chaos, the Mischief_ **

.

.

.

Fred and George Weasley were always the jokesters. They  _loved_  prank,  _worshipped_  mischief and chaos so naturally, they were the clowns in their family. When they were little, whenever something was accidentally broken, their mother would screech on the top of her lung  _FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!_ and they would giggle in joy for mischief was made then run away. It was a happy childhood, really. A loving mom, a devoted dad, and five great siblings for them to play with.

But as they grown, they start to recognise a pattern. It was always _FredandGeorge_  but never  _Fred and George_. Their family could not tell them apart. The Twins had grown to resent that fact.  _Their own family_. What hurt more was that they did not even try, even their parents. At least with Bill and Charlie, they tried to guess which one was the one to turn their hair into glittery pink, which one hide away their collection of Quidditch magazines and if the two of them had anything to do with the explosions they heard from  _some bloody Merlin too early hour to be alive_.

Nevertheless, they loved their family with all their hearts. Every family had their flaws, they had thought. It was not a big of a deal, they had believed, to be mistaken as one another. They could have fun with it, roll with the flow, created the best in the situation that they had. It was not  _great_ , but life was content, they agreed.

However.

One thing about humans was that they were a bunch of hypocrites.

It was embarrassing, to always have to hear their parents shout out to the world that they were on the  _good_  side, that they were Light, that they were the  _good_ ones. It was silly, caring so much what others thinking about you when you could spend your time doing mischief and chaos instead. It was hilarious, how you could  _influence_  one person if you understand their thoughts, their belief enough. It was also shameful, they sighed, to willingly be manipulated so you could have a good life you  _think_ you  _deserve_.

. . . .

Accidentally heard your mother and the headmaster of the school you went to plan an illegal marriage contract for little Ronniekins and the Girl-Who-Lived had helped shifted their view of the world.

All their lives they had heard how  _great_  Albus  _Too-Many-Middle-Names_  Dumbledore was from their parents. How he had saved the Wizarding World from the evil hands of  _Gellert Grindelwald_ , how he had time and time again risk his life to protect wizards and witches from  _You-Know-Who._ Then there was the story of  _the Girl-Who-Lived_. Every child their age had grown up reading her story as a fairy tale. They had put her on the pedestal then actually forgot about her  _actual age – which was younger than them now that they thought about it Merlin beard!_

The Twins were horrified, as they found out. Albus Dumbledore, the Leader of the Light, wanting to use the Girl-Who-Lived for his  _greater good_  and their mother,  _their loving mother_ , had a hand in it.

It was an eye-opener, they admitted. Nothing screwed you up more than knowing how  _imperfect_  you mother was. How she was so greedy and selfish that the life which she now living was  _not_   _sufficient enough_  for her. They had assumed the Weasley were a happy family. Even though their family were poor, even though their little brother was a little bit dimmed, even when their mother yelled at them to  _stop making troubles_ – _trouble!? They created_ chaos _, not trouble, they indignantly sneered. Honestly, get it right woman_  – they still thought they were lucky enough, blessed enough to have a roof over their head, to have the love of the parents, to have food provided for them, and to have a nice bed to fall asleep on.

Fred and Geroge Weasley  _loved_ mischief and chaos,  _worshipped_  it. They never claimed to be the sane ones in the family, but they still had their  _morals_. And  _not informing someone their life was going to be ruined_  was one of them. (They were also a bit insulted. Ronniekins and not them? Tsk, tsk, Mother, you broke our little trouble hearts, really.)

 

 

(They had already felt guilty before they met her. Guilt from their mother action and guilt from their brother for actually wanting to go with it. From thinking their family was going to destroy a little girl life and their willingness to do anything to appease the Headmaster.

They were ashamed of their own blood. They were ashamed of their ignorant father, manipulative mother and greedy little siblings.

They were ready to sacrifice their lives to protect her, back then. Even without knowing who she was, what she looked like, what her personality was like, they were willing. As willing as their mother when she wanted to ruin an innocent girl life, they supposed (Fred and George chuckled mockingly at their comparison).)

 

_._

_._

 

_Tsk, tsk, Mother, Mother. What would Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian say to who you have become now?_

_Tsk, tsk, Mother, Mother. You told us not to create any more trouble, but turn out you are the most troublesome of all._

_Tsk, how you disappointed us, Mother._


End file.
